


Blackbird

by RLWoodson



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4464599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RLWoodson/pseuds/RLWoodson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phantom of the Opera inspired.  Dean is an up-and-coming star at Heaven’s Theater.  After his debut performance, he is swept away by a beautiful, ethereal voice.  Sam is angry, Dean is curious, and Cas...  All Dean wants is to see his mystery angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Dean, get this,” Sam called from the small apartment living room. Dean pulled a gray shirt over his head and crossed into the small room. “There’s an audition at Heaven’s Theater for Les Miserables tomorrow!” Sam continued. “You have to audition.”

“Sammy, I don’t have anything prepared,” Dean ran a hand through his light brown hair.

Sam gave him an impressive combination of his bitchface and a smirk. “Dean, you once learned an Italian area in thirty minutes. You have dozens of plays memorized. Surely you can find one song to sing.”

“Dude, we haven’t even finished unpacking!” Dean gestured to the cardboard boxes piled haphazardly around the room. The Winchesters had moved into the small apartment on the outskirts of New York City only two weeks ago. Sam had insisted; there wasn’t much in the acting business in Lawrence, Kansas.

Dean supposed he was just a bit afraid, though he would never admit it. It would be his first audition in a big city, New York of all places, and he probably wasn’t good enough. Sure, he had been revered in Lawrence, but he had been a lounge singer. This was the big leagues, and he was by no means a big fish.

Sam then turned those damn puppy dog eyes on Dean. “Dean, I know you can do this. This could be the start of your career! You have the best voice I’ve ever heard in my life, and...” Sam trailed off for a moment. “I know Mom would be proud of you.”

Dean sighed. He would have to audition sooner or later. And even if it was a minor role, their Mom would be proud. He would live out the dream that she never had a chance to. “Fine,” he said. “What do I sing?”

Sam’s eyes lit up. “Definitely “Maria” from West Side Story. You kill at that one.”

Dean chuckled and went back into his room, closing the door. Sam heard the sounds of boxes moving and things being set down. As he began to unpack the kitchen, he heard Dean’s caramel-rich voice float out from behind the door. “The most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard, Maria, Maria...”

\- - -

The theater was huge and intimidating. It was the kind of place that wasn’t built anymore; no other theaters had this much detail wrought into the walls, or ornate paintings on the ceilings. He had never seen a place so extensive, he’d need a map just to get around. There were maybe a hundred people milling about, waiting to audition. They all looked at Dean and turned up their nose at his bow legs and ACDC shirt. The older Winchester had never felt so nervous.

“Don’t worry, you’ve got this,” Sam squeezed his shoulder. “I have to wait out here. But seriously dude, just sing. You know you can. Jerk.”

“Bitch,” came Dean’s automatic reply. He smiled as his brother walked off, and the nerves immediately returned.

He sat in the velvety red seat along with the others auditioning, and one at a time, everyone took the stage to audition. Dean watched the judges’ faces carefully during each performance to see what they liked and didn’t like, but their faces were stone. No criticism, no praise, nothing. Only a short, “Thank you. Next!”

Dean sat, leg bouncing in anticipation for what felt like days. He heard nasally voices, throaty voices, operatic voices... everything. But no one was blatantly bad. Which put the odds even further against him. After agonizing minutes that felt too long and yet very short, he heard, “Winchester, Dean.”

Dean’s feet carried him up onto the stage mechanically and then he was there with nowhere to hide. His eyes adjusted to the limelight quickly, revealing many judgmental faces. “My name is Dean Winchester,” he said evenly, “and I’ll be singing “Maria” from West Side Story.” He took a breath and remembered his mother, and the warmth he felt when she sang him “Hey Jude” every night before bed. The tension fled his body and he opened his mouth.

He saw several stunned faces in the crowd. Their surprise urged him further, and his warm baritone voice resonated in the space. “And suddenly I’ve found how wonderful a sound can be!” He finished out the song, his voice fading until the last vowel echoed in the space and vanished.

Not a sound was heard, no clapping, no shifting of seats. “Thank you,” one of the judges said, scribbling on a piece of paper. “Next!”

A wave of disappointment washed over him, and he tried to hold his head high as he stepped backstage and out of the auditorium to find his brother. He left so quickly that he didn’t see the fluttering black cloak that moved in the shadows on the catwalk.

Sam rushed over to Dean as he stalked outside. “How’d it go, man?”

Dean sighed. “I don’t know. I’m really average compared to those guys. I just...” He swallowed and turned the corner, heading for their apartment.

“Hey, I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’re awesome, remember?” Dean smiled at his little brother’s optimism. “When do you get the results?”

“They post them online,” Dean remembered them saying. “Midnight, I think.”

The hours passed by like molasses. Dean busied himself with unpacking and crap television and finally push-ups, just to get his mind off things. Even so, he sat on Heaven’s Theater’s website at 11:59, his mouse hovering over the refresh button.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered, stomping into the kitchen for a beer. Sam huffed and sat down at the computer, clicking refresh.

A broad smile spread on the younger Winchester’s face. “Congratulations, Dean,” he beamed. “You are officially the new Foreman!”

Dean blinked several times. He had lines! He had a whole scene, followed by a song! Apparently they had liked him enough. Dean let out a surprised breath. “I have to be slapped,” he murmured. Both Winchesters burst out laughing, and Sam joined Dean with a beer.

\- - -

Rehearsals started only a few days later, and they were hard. Dean may be a hot-headed man, but he found it difficult to get into character quickly. The foreman was lecherous and violent, but he took comfort in the fact that it was just acting. And the actress playing Fantine, Anna, was a very easygoing woman.

Dean couldn’t help fantasizing though. He had loved Les Mis his entire life, and it had been his dream to play Marius. So when that man sung, Dean hummed along. When he spoke, Dean mouthed the words. Maybe one day, they’d do this production again and Dean would get that chance. For now, he would work on being fake-slapped and hitting on Anna.

\- - -

Dean arrived the morning of the first production to the sound of frantic voices. “Where the hell is Michael?!” the director yelled. Michael plays Marius, Dean remembered.

“I-I don’t know sir, he’s just gone,” a frightened lighting technician followed.

“Did you call him? Call his friends? Go to his fucking house?!”

“Yes, sir, he’s just gone! Nowhere to be found!”

Dean walked inconspicuously closer to the two while everyone else rushed about in a state of rehearsed panic. “And Lucifer?” That’s Michael’s understudy, Dean’s brain supplied.

“Also gone. His phone and his wallet were still left in his apartment. I don’t know what to say, sir,” the technician refused eye contact.

The director, Kripke, Dean remembered, rubbed his eyes. “It’s the day of the production and one of our main characters and his understudy have disappeared. Where the hell are we going to find someone who can just jump into a role like that?!”

“Do we have to cancel, sir?” the technician whispered.

“No,” Dean blurted. He composed himself quickly. “I, uh, I’m sorry if this is unprofessional, but I’ve known every word and every note of Marius’ character since I was sixteen.” Kripke narrowed his eyes at Dean and the younger man swallowed. “If you don’t have time to find anyone else, I’d be more than happy to fill in for Michael.”

That was probably a stupid move. Kripke walked right up to Dean and looked him hard in the face. Dean didn’t back down one inch; he was taking this chance, whether he meant to or not. After a while, the man spoke. “You better not fuck this up, kid.” Yes! Deans responding grin made the older man roll his eyes. “Go, get to costume to get fitted. And seriously, don’t fuck this up!” Kripke yelled as Dean bolted to get fitted.

His head was spinning. He was Marius. The stars must have aligned or something because this never happened. He called Sam while the costume designers found the right pieces to outfit Dean in.

“Sammy, you won’t believe this!” He explained the situation to his brother, who was nearly screaming on the line.

“Holy shit, Dean! You’re a lead! You’re a fucking lead!” Sam gushed for minutes about the start of Dean’s career and how amazing everything was going to be and how he was going to sneak in some sort of recording device because it was necessary to document every moment of this historic event. Dean ended the call to prepare for the surprise character change.

He went over the blocking with the various other characters he would interact with, even though he had watched carefully enough to have them memorized already. He ran a few of the songs and prepared as much as he could throughout the day until it was finally time.

The second Dean stepped out onto the stage, his excited nerves fled. The light shone in his eyes and he felt so at home. That night, he became Marius, just as he had dreamed for years. He heard women in the audience sigh when he sang “A Heart Full of Love”. He heard the restrained gasps during “A Little Fall of Rain” and the outright sobs during “Empty Chairs and Empty Tables.” Even he cried during that one. Finally, blissfully as he bellowed the last chord of the finale, he let the feelings overwhelm him while the curtain closed.

Cast members that he didn’t know hugged him and patted him on the back, and choruses of “That was amazing!” and “Fantastic job!” echoed around him. Dean regained his composure as the lead roles stepped outside to greet the audience members who lingered outside the auditorium.

“Dean!” Sam nearly tackled him with the force of the hug.

“Hey to you too, Sammy,” Dean patted Sam on the back, unable to hide his grin.

Sam had tear-stains on his cheeks and was clutching the playbill for all he was worth. “I still can’t believe this. You were absolutely amazing up there!”

Dean ruffled his brother’s hair, though Sam was a good four inches taller than he was. “You can praise me all you want later,” he joked. “But I think I have to sign some stuff first.”

It wasn’t just Sam who praised his acting or singing; the whole crowd flocked to Dean, gushing about his performance. He explained that he was not Michael or Lucifer, circumstances arose and he was the one to fill in. After over an hour of smiling and signing, both his face and his hands were cramping and he retreated to his dressing room to change.

The room was filled with things that weren’t his. This was Michael’s dressing room, and he occupied only one armchair and a coffee table of space. His phone buzzed in his little duffel. “I’m taking you to dinner tonight, my treat,” came Sam’s voice over the phone.

“Aw, so romantic, Sammy,” Dean jabbed. “Hey, would it be okay if we just got takeout and crashed at home? I’m way more exhausted than I thought I would be.”

“Of course,” Sam said. “Just come down when you’re changed, I’ll get us a cab.”

“Will do.” Dean hung up and tossed his phone onto the chair.

He pulled off his vest and sighed, his skin free of the tight material. He loosened his tie and had just pulled it over his head when he heard it: a soft humming noise. He whirled around the room, but saw nothing. The humming continued. “Hello?” he called. The sound was so smooth. Dean could feel his muscles relax even though he knew something was wrong. “Who’s there?” he asked with less vigor.

The humming morphed into a gentle singing. “Come to me,” the voice sang softly, and Dean’s jaw went slack. “Join me now, give in to your heart and come to me...” The voice was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. The deep bass was like- like a waterfall, the kind that polished the rocks below and churned the water white, rumbling and yet smooth. Dean was unaware of himself moving, but suddenly he was in a dark hallway, following the singing. This was not the hallway that lead out of his dressing room, but his mind didn’t register that. “Let your mind drift, let your eyes close, come to me...” Dean obeyed the voice, his muddled thoughts melting into one phrase: I will come to you.

The singing faded away gently and Dean surfaced from the trance-like state he had been in. After a few groggy moments, his mind sharpened and he realized he had no idea where he was. The space was dim, filled with old furniture and props and lanterns, rather than the fluorescent lights Dean had expected. It looked like some sort of prop warehouse, with no apparent doors or windows. “Is this a warehouse?” Dean wondered aloud.

“No,” a deep voice murmured, the sound echoing in the space.

Dean whirled around again, searching for the source of the word. “Who are you?” Dean asked, willing his voice not to shake. “And where am I?”

“I am an audience member,” the voice said. It almost sounded amused, and it gave no more information.

“Oh yeah? Then how did I get here?” Dean began to walk in the direction he thought the voice was coming from, though it seemed to echo from above.

“You heard my song,” the voice deepened, “and you came to me.”

Dean shivered as the sound wound into his skin, sending tingles down his spine. He willed his body not to react- the voice sounded like sex personified. “And why did I do that?” Dean asked so the voice would keep talking. The props and furniture wound aimlessly, like a maze.

“Because you wanted to.”

Dean rounded the corner, but no one was there. “That still doesn’t tell me where I am,” he called, backtracking to his original standing place.

“No, it doesn’t,” the voice said.

Dean balled his hands into fists and started for another path through the stuff. “Okay, we’ll try again,” he muttered, rounding another corner. Nothing there. “Why did you kidnap me?”

“I did not kidnap you,” the voice was softer. “You came willingly, and I will send you back when we are done speaking.”

“And when will that be, huh?” Dean rounded another corner and huffed. Nothing. The voice was also silent, which made him nervous. “Why did you lead me here then? If you’re just a normal audience member, you could have just talked to me after the show like everyone else.”

The voice chuckled, and to Dean’s horror, he found he enjoyed the sound. Don’t fucking tell me this is Stockholm Syndrome, he begged wordlessly. “I am far from normal, Dean Winchester.”

“So you know me, evidently,” Dean stared at the ceiling, as if that would help him. “What should I call you?”

There was a long pause. “You may call me Castiel,” the voice said.

“Castiel,” Dean murmured. The word felt foreign, but rolled off the tongue easily. The voice had a name, Castiel, and Dean felt his fear slowly ebb away. He sat heavily on a nearby couch, a bit of dust poofing up around him. Dean was caught between trying to figure a way out of this and imagining what the body that belonged to the voice looked like.

“Sing to me,” Castiel commanded suddenly.

“What?”

“Sing to me, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was soft, but clearly an order.

“Why should I?”

Castiel was quiet for a moment. “Sing to me, and I’ll answer some of your questions directly.”

Dean’s head hit the back of the couch cushion with a dull thump. He was still exhausted from the day’s events and he had just been kidnapped somehow by a crazy theater enthusiast. “What do you want me to sing?” he found himself asking.

“Something from your childhood,” Castiel replied.

Dean gave the air a little half smile. “Hey Jude,” he began, “don’t make it bad.” The song came easily to him. He remembered his mother carding her hands through little Dean’s hair, singing to him softly. Anyone who knew his mother told Dean that he got his voice from her. When she wasn’t around anymore, Dean sang the song to little Sam before bed. “Then you’ll begin to make it better,” he finished.

There was a long pause in which Dean kept silent. Would Castiel say anything about it? Was he just supposed to start asking questions?

“Your voice is like a summer breeze,” Castiel murmured, almost too quietly for Dean to hear. “It is warm and clear, and incredibly beautiful. Breathtaking, in fact.”

Dean felt his cheeks heat up in the dim light. No one had ever complimented him like that before. He cleared his throat and muttered, “Thank you.” He could perform on a stage in front of thousands at a minute’s notice, yet here he was, embarrassed about singing to a disembodied voice.

“You have questions, then?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah, I think.” Dean had a hundred questions, but they had all left his mind. “How long are you going to keep me here?”

“Do you not like it here?” Castiel asked teasingly.

“Direct answers, Cas,” Dean reminded, and then backtracked. You do not nickname the disembodied voice that kidnapped you. “Sorry,” he added.

After a moment, he heard Castiel clear his throat. “It’s quite alright. You may call me... Cas.” Dean smiled, and then quickly hid it. You do not smile at the disembodied voice that kidnapped you, he chastised himself. “As for your question, I will not keep you long. You will be returned before dawn.”

Dean blinked several times. That would be a very short kidnapping, if Cas kept his word. “Why am I here?” he asked.

“When an entire crowd vies for your attention, I would not get to observe you as I do now.” Dean opened his mouth, but Cas cut him off. “To answer your next question, I am observing you because you are beautiful, and I treasure beautiful things.”

The older Winchester flushed again, the heat spreading down his back. He had never expected to have those sort of words spoken to him in such a deep, alluring voice. He had never even thought to imagine something like it, and he was unprepared for the physical reactions it was causing.

“Uh,” Dean said eloquently. “I don’t know what else to say.” He chuckled, embarrassed.

“Then let me sing to you,” Castiel’s voice grew softer as he began to hum. Dean felt that sinking sensation that he had noticed before. A sort of warmth filled his mind when Cas’ humming turned into singing, singing in some language Dean had never heard before. His voice was soothing and low and enthralling, and his eyelids drooped. Though the language was foreign, Dean understood the meaning: Sleep.

\- - -

“Dean!” The green-eyed man started awake at his name. He looked around; Michael’s dressing room surrounded him, though he was now laying on a couch. The voice that had yelled his name was attached to his brother.

“Sam?” The older Winchester sat up and shook his head. That had been one seriously weird dream. One weird, lucid dream. “Sorry, I guess I just passed out for a minute. Is our cab here yet?”

Sam’s mouth was open in disbelief. “Dean,” he said slowly. “It’s two o’clock in the morning. We’ve been looking for you for almost four hours now.”

Dean frowned. No, that wasn’t right. It hadn’t been that long. Or he had fallen into a deep sleep that only felt like a short time, that had happened to him before. “Why didn’t you come wake me up earlier then?” He stood and stretched.

“Because you weren’t here!” Sam exclaimed. “You were gone and your phone was here and we searched almost the entire building! You disappeared!”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “No, I was right here. I was exhausted. I just passed out and had a weird dream until you woke me up.” Cas’ voice rang in his head, but it must have been a dream. That was the only rational thing Dean could come up with.

“I came back to get your stuff, and you were here. I was in here twenty minutes ago and you weren’t.” Sam scrubbed his face with his hands. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I found you and we’re going home.”

Dean let Sam collect his things and lead him down to the foyer of the building.

“Thank god!” That would be Kripke. “Where was he?”

“In the dressing room, I don’t know what happened,” Sam shrugged. “I’m going to take him home now.”

“Sure, yeah,” Kripke patted Dean on the back. “Hell of a performance tonight, kid. Keep yourself safe, you hear?” Dean nodded and let Sam pull him into a waiting cab. When they got home, Dean fell into bed and passed out into a restful, dreamless sleep.

\- - -

The next morning was difficult.

“Seriously, just tell me what happened!” Sam crossed his arms. “Did you sneak of with some girl? Some guy? Seriously, Dean, just tell me. I won’t be mad.”

“I didn’t sneak off,” Dean mumbled, not even one cup of coffee in his system yet.

“Okay, well what do you remember?”

“Sam, I already told you-”

“Just give me every little detail, okay? Maybe you’ll remember something.” Sam was so annoyingly thorough.

“Well, I went to the dressing room and took off the vest and tie, and then I must have fallen asleep.” Dean shrugged.

“Did you sit down on the couch?” Sam looked so serious.

“I don’t think so, I... I heard singing, and then I was in my dream.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What was your dream about?”

“I was in some basement or warehouse or something filled with theater junk and someone was talking to me, but I couldn’t see them. It was just a voice, and it made me sing to it. Weird, right?”

“Oh my god, really?” Sam rolled his eyes. “Who told you the story? I was trying to keep you away from that so you didn’t go snooping around.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean’s brow furrowed.

Sam sighed, exasperated. “There’s a legend that an angel lives in Heaven’s Theater and lurks around there and sings. Dean, it’s not real.”

Dean scowled at his brother. “I never heard that story. And I don’t believe in angels, I’m not an idiot.” He downed the rest of his coffee. “As I said, dream.”

Sam shook his head, but let the subject drop.

Throughout the next several days, Dean dreamed about Cas, but those he knew to be dreams: murky and quick to fade after he woke up. He remembered his voice, that deep soothing voice like a waterfall. But he wasn’t real, he was just a dream. Angels didn’t exist. Cas didn’t exist.


	2. Chapter 2

After Les Mis was done, other shows popped up. Michael had apparently decided to start working with another theater, and Dean was immediately cast as Don Lockwood in Singin’ in the Rain, which surprised and delighted him. Sam was proud as ever, and with all the work put into the production, which now had complicated dance numbers, the disembodied voice was pushed to the back of Dean’s mind.

The night of the premiere, Dean was prepared. Sam was twitchy, however. “Come down right after you’re changed, okay? Don’t shut your eyes, don’t lay down, nothing.”

“Yeah yeah, I get it,” Dean responded by thumping his brother soundly on the back before heading backstage.

The production was wonderful. It wasn’t so heart wrenching as Les Mis, but it was fun and Dean enjoyed wearing a funny suit and dancing in the water falling from above. He went out to receive the fans, and all the praise made him smile. “You were awesome!” “You have a great voice!” “You can really dance!”

He was still happily surprised that people liked his performance so much, but he couldn’t help but hear some words from a month-old dream. Your voice is like a summer breeze. It is warm and clear, and incredibly beautiful. Breathtaking, in fact. A shiver passed through Dean just at the memory.

“Come down quick, okay?” Sam trailed behind him as he approached the stairs.

“Yeah, I get it Sam. Don’t make you wait.” Dean took the stairs two at a time, his tuxedo from the last scene creasing. The more stairs he climbed, the more he thought about the dream he had had, or the not-dream. It felt real, but it couldn’t be.

Dean unlocked his dressing room and shut the door behind him. His heart was thumping loudly in his chest, but he didn’t dare move. He was listening for any sound, anything to alert him that something else was there. His pulse was racing and his palms were sweating, but what was he expecting? The angel thing was a dream and even if it somehow wasn’t, Cas was not a friend. He was a disembodied voice that kidnapped him. Still, he counted out a full three minutes of absolute silence before sighing and turning back to his duffel. Disappointment wrapped around him. He knew it was stupid, but for some reason he wanted to see, or rather hear, Cas again.

His phone was tossed onto the chair and one of his cufflinks was off before he heard it- the humming. A grin spread across his face as the melody became stronger. It was real. Cas was real.

This time, he relaxed into the sound, letting his mind go fuzzy and his eyes glaze over as Cas sang. “Come with me, join me...”

\- - -

Dean blinked several times, clearing the haze from his mind. He was in the warehouse basement thing that he had been in the last time, in the same spot. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

“Cas?” he called quietly. Silence. “Cas!”

“You look lovely in a tuxedo, Dean,” the low voice murmured.

Dean barely tried to squash down the grin that spread across his face. “This is real. I’m not crazy.”

“Of course not,” Cas sounded taken aback. “Why would you think you’re crazy?”

“I thought this was a dream,” Dean responded, starting down a path between the furniture. “I mean, the last time I was here. Like a weird lucid dream or something.”

“Have you dreamt of me?” Cas asked.

Dean decided not to respond to that. Technically he had, but he didn’t need to give Cas the disembodied voice any notions about how much he’d been thinking about him. “Same rules as last time?” he asked instead.

Cas chuckled. “Yes, the same.”

“Man, Sammy’s gonna kill me,” Dean rounded an unfamiliar corner, meandering farther.

“Your brother,” Cas stated rather than asked. “He is the one that uses his height to his advantage when he cheers for you.” Dean laughed. That was exactly what Sam did- he towered over everyone and held his hands out like a megaphone. Dean could never miss his voice. “Is your brother upset with you?”

Dean’s smile fell and he sighed. “He freaked out that I disappeared for about four hours last show. And since it’s about to happen again...” he shrugged.

There was a pause. “Would you rather I stop calling to you?”

There was another pause. “No,” Dean said carefully. He gave no explanation and Cas didn’t ask for one. “Are you a angel?” he asked suddenly.

“No,” Cas replied in that calm manner of his.

“Then what exactly are you?”

“Sing to me.” Dean smiled, remembering the rules of the previous time. Cas would answer questions after Dean sang to him.

“What would you like to hear this time?” he leaned against a nearby wooden desk.

“Something that makes you happy.”

Dean thought for a moment, then began. “Calm down,” he sang softly, “Deep breaths, and get yourself dressed, instead...” He felt his lower register vibrate in his chest. He didn’t much listen to Jason Mraz, but he enjoyed the song. It made him feel like everything was going to be okay, no matter what the situation. “Hearts will hold...” he trailed off, wondering if Cas would compliment him again. Not that he needed compliments, they just made him feel so warm.

“Thank you,” Cas whispered. That wasn’t what Dean was expecting. Cas must have been able to see him, because he continued. “I needed that. That message, it makes you happy?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded at the air. “Makes me feel like I’m not alone, like everything’s going to be okay somehow. Like even if I feel different, everyone is different and so we’re all alike, and that’s okay.” Why was he saying all this? He shook his head at himself. Real feelings were not something he was well versed in.

“You continue to amaze me,” Cas murmured.

“How so?” Dean asked, standing straight and continuing his meanderings down the path.

“There are quite literally hundreds of happy songs being sung in the world, yet you pick a song that comforts others. The thought of others being made to feel better is what makes you happy.” The voice paused. “That is rare in an individual. Rare and precious.”

Dean smiled at his shoes. He wondered why Cas thought so highly of him. His song choices didn’t necessarily define his identity, though that little evaluation hit pretty close to home. “Thank you,” Dean said again. Stop that, He chided himself for his breathlessness. He cleared his throat and begun his questions. “So you’re not an angel...”

Cas chuckled. “No.”

“What are you?”

Cas was quiet for a long time. Dean situated himself on a chair and got comfortable. “I am much like you, in most respects. I have arms and legs, a torso, and a head.” He said this matter-of-factly.

“Do you have anything else?” Dean asked, even though he was nervous about the answer. Cas was quiet for so long that Dean was no longer sure that Cas was there. “Cas?”

“Some questions I cannot answer, Dean,” he sounded resigned.

What kind of answer was that? “Well if you can’t tell me, then show me.” Dean’s voice rose, frustrated. “Let me see you.”

“No.” Cas’ voice was harsh. “You may not see me.”

To Dean’s surprise, Cas’ tone hurt. Why did that hurt? He had met this voice twice and now he felt a weight in his gut like he had been rejected. Instead of answering, he turned sharply and continued mapping out his surroundings.

“Dean,” Cas sighed. The older Winchester didn’t answer. “I apologize.”

“You don’t have to yell,” Dean said quietly, like a petulant child.

“I am not experiences with this kind of conversation. Personal facts and the like,” Cas murmured.

“You could tell me about yourself, you know,” Dean ran his fingers along a cement wall that he had finally found. “We can start with little stuff. You have eyes, right?”

Cas laughed a little. “Yes, I have eyes.”

“What color are they?”

“Blue.”

Dean smiled. He was a sucker for blue eyes.

“How about your favorite food?” Dean walked with his finger against the wall until he came across a pile of props and had to release the wall.

“I don’t eat much,” he began. “I had a hamburger once. It was delightful.”

Dean grinned. “You should try pie, of any kind. Sweet inside, flaky crust, mmm.” His mouth was nearly watering. “How, uh, how long have you been here?”

“A while,” was all he said. The silence hung like a weight.

“Did you see the production? Singin’ in the Rain?” Dean asked to lighten the mood.

“I did,” Cas’ voice brightened. “I didn’t know it was possible to be attractive in heavy, wet clothes.”

Dean chuckled, then stopped. Had Cas just called him attractive? He felt his face color and thanked the lack of light. “Do you, uh, do you like the wet suit or the tux better?” Shit. You do not flirt with the disembodied voice, Dean, he reprimanded himself.

“The tuxedo,” Cas’ voice was just a notch lower than before, and Dean felt it. “Your voice isn’t the only beautiful thing about you.” Dean bit his lip to keep any noise he might have made in. Cas was flirting with him. And he liked it. Maybe he really did have Stockholm Syndrome. “I also saw the rehearsals, and I find that I enjoy your sense of humor.”

“You saw every rehearsal?” Dean asked, surprised.

“Not every one, but many of them. I see you.”

“And I want to see you. Not that I’m insisting you come out here or anything,” he added quickly. “I just want to see you, s’all. It’d be nice to talk face to face.”

“I understand,” Castiel murmured sadly. “But not today.” Dean sat back in the chair he had before. “Shall I sing to you?”

Dean contemplated saying no, that he wanted to stay longer, but he knew Sam would be freaking out, and he needed to deal with his brother. “Okay. Good night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.” Dean closed his eyes. Cas said his name very nicely. It sounded meaningful in his voice. The strange language and soft melody sent him off almost immediately, though he swore he could still hear the singing in his dreams.

\- - -

“What the hell?” Dean’s eyes blinked open. He was in the dressing room, on the couch just like last time, with angry Sam standing over him.

“Ugh. Shut it, Sammy, I know what you’re gonna say,” Dean muttered, shucking off his tux and into jeans and a t-shirt.

“Doubtful,” Sam growled.

“I wasn’t here and then I was, right?” His brother glared. “I don’t know how it’s happening either. Let’s just go home, okay?” He felt bad lying to Sam, but he knew that Cas was real, somehow, and he wasn’t going to go telling everyone he knew. Cas kept himself secret for a reason, even if Dean didn’t know what that was.

The brothers stewed in their emotions for two days before having an all out scream-fight in their apartment. It blew over quickly once Dean agreed to let Sam come up to his dressing room after the next production.

Dean auditioned for Grease less than a week later, and received the part of Danny Zuko. It wasn’t his usual character, but the rehearsal schedule only lasted for three weeks and that meant he could visit Cas sooner. It was agonizing, waiting so long to hear that voice again. He dreamed of it almost constantly. Your voice isn’t the only beautiful thing about you.

The memories stirred deep physical feelings in him, feelings he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Only when he was in the privacy of his own locked room that he let himself drown in the pleasure that Cas’ voice inspired. To his embarrassment, this happened fairly often, and Sam was none the wiser.

They also stirred up something Dean refused to touch with a ten foot pole: honest-to-god emotions. In Lawrence, Dean went through a phase of one night stands, emotionless hook-ups, and general slutty behavior. That had been his M.O. since he dropped out of college. For a while, his escapades distracted him from facing real life- getting a job, working for a better life, making a family. When Sam returned from Stanford, he made sure Dean sobered up and got him back into acting. He was the one who pushed Dean to actually go for the big dreams, which landed him in New York, being kidnapped and seduced by a strange voice in his theater.

Every night before Dean went to bed, he tried to remember that song that Cas sang him to sleep with, the one in the language Dean had never heard of. He remembered the first little bit of it, and he sang them to himself, pretending that it was Cas there singing. It was soothing and hypnotic and maybe Dean was going crazy, but he missed that voice much more than he should have.

During the three weeks of rehearsal time for Grease, Dean asked around the staff of the theater about Cas, or rather, ‘the angel of Heaven’s Theater’.

“It’s just a stupid story,” a businesswoman named Naomi shooed him away.

“I couldn’t tell you,” the receptionist shifted papers around. “But there’s something here. Sometimes I’ll come back and all of my lists will be alphabetized by last name, and I always alphabetize by first name.”

“I know him,” the janitor, Gabriel, replied as he was sweeping up one night.

Dean’s mouth dropped open. “You know him? How? What-”

“Whoa there, slow your roll, Dean-o,” Gabriel said, holding up his hands. Dean frowned at the nick name. “What I should have said is that I’ve met him before. I started working here about ten years ago and I was here alone one night, fixing a crack in the stage’s floor boards, and one of the big lights fell.” Gabriel leaned against a wall. “It would have killed me if someone in a big black cape hadn’t pushed me out of the way.”

“And you’re sure it was him? Did you see his face?” Dean leaned forward eagerly.

“I saw him run off after. And I heard a voice that said, ‘Be more careful.’ So something’s real, all right. Why do you ask?”

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. Telling Gabriel about Cas might earn him some more information, but... no, he wouldn’t say anything. If Cas wanted to stay a myth, he wasn’t going to spoil it. “I love spooky stories,” Dean lied. “And this one’s my favorite, so far.”

Gabriel’s face darkened. “Don’t go looking, you hear me? He may be a really great guy, but that doesn’t mean he’s a good guy.”

“But you said you only saw him once,” Dean backtracked. “How do you know that he’s great?” And also not good?

Gabriel sighed. “I guess, he takes care of this place. When this place tanked almost six years ago, a mysterious envelope of money ‘To the welfare and protection of Heaven’s Theater’ showed up and saved us from going bankrupt. Sometimes free tickets to the productions will be sent to orphanages and shelters when no one here has sent them. Messes get cleaned up, things will be moved around, stuff like that. He... keeps a close eye on the management too.”

“What does that mean?” Dean followed Gabriel as he packed up his cleaning supplies.

“Sometimes, people go missing. Granted, these people would have been horrible to the theater. Company men wanting to buy us out who wouldn’t take no for an answer, production assistants stealing money and harassing the staff... Actors he thought weren’t worthy of their roles.” He gave Dean a pointed look.

Actors that weren’t worthy of their roles disappearing... “Michael and Lucifer?” Dean asked. “Ca- The angel got rid of them?”

Gabriel chuckled. “Most of the time, we get a call that the person missing was found, lost and confused, in some other state. They usually don’t want to work here after that. But sometimes, only a few times, people went missing for good.”

Dean shivered. He couldn’t imagine Cas actually... doing that to anyone.

“As I said,” Gabriel shut the closet door. “Don’t go looking for him.”

\- - -

Grease was a hit. With all the dancing and tight pants, he was sweating buckets by the end of it. He may have gone just a bit too hard, but he knew that Cas was watching. Dean even threw in a wink to the audience at the very end. Well, maybe one particular audience member.

Wasting no time, he went out to greet the theater-goers quickly. Sam was talking animatedly to Jess, the actress that played Sandy, and Dean thought he might be able to slip out unnoticed.

He headed for the stairs, but soon felt a heavy hand on his back. “I’m coming with you, remember?” Sam’s voice said behind him.

“Right, yeah Sammy. Let’s go.” Dean mentally cursed. He wondered if Cas would come for him if Sam was right there with him.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you want to know what’s happening to you after every performance? How are you not freaked out?”

Dean started down the hall, his face a calm mask. “Hey, whatever happens, I’m in one piece by morning. I don’t see what I have to freak out about.”

Sam huffed irritably but followed Dean into his dressing room. He had fully taken over the space, now that it was no longer Michael’s. Dean now had a good idea of what had happened to make Michael leave. Sam closed the door and sat in the armchair, watching Dean carefully.

Dean took a towel and rubbed some of the gel from his hair. There was no sound apart from Sam’s breathing and the soft whoosh of the air conditioner. The older Winchester loitered by his duffel when the idea hit him. He half-smiled at Sam and inconspicuously removed his phone from his pocket and set it on the table. Almost instantaneously, soft humming filled the room. Dean whirled around to watch Sam, but the taller man’s head fell back against the chair, fast asleep.

Dean stepped forward and closed his eyes, letting Cas’ melody take him back to his secret place.

\- - -

Dean opened his eyes to find himself in the exact position he’d been in three weeks ago. “Hah!” he laughed. Why he was so excited to be back was a mystery.

A deep responding laugh came from the air. “You seem happy.” Dean could hear the smile in Cas’ voice.

“Yeah,” Dean calmed himself. “I guess I am.” The part of him that kept screaming, Do not engage the disembodied voice! No conversation! No flirting! was getting quieter and quieter.

“You did well tonight,” Cas complimented. Dean grinned again. Grease was a particular sexual play, and Dean’s dancing had perhaps exceeded those particular expectations. “I saw several people staring at you, Dean,” Cas continued. “Men and women alike. I can’t help but wonder who that wink was for.”

Dean nearly skipped along another pathway. “You know, I was thinking of a particular spectator,” Dean ran his fingers along a dusty end table. “I don’t know where he sat though.” He stopped and turned, though he had no idea where Cas was. “Where were you sitting?”

The deep voice hummed in satisfaction. “Somewhere with a perfect view. That ensemble you’re wearing is much more revealing than your previous ones.”

Dean shivered, plucking at the tight black t-shirt and equally tight jeans fitted for Danny Zuko. “It is, isn’t it?”

“You are stunning,” Cas murmured.

Dean blushed furiously, which was starting to get annoying. Dean Winchester did not blush. He cleared his throat. “Let me sing to you,” he began walking again.

“Turn left,” Cas told him.

“Huh?”

“Turn left, right where you’re standing. I have a gift for you, in a way.” Dean obeyed, turning left and squeezing between a bookshelf and a greek-style pillar. “Keep going, now left again.” He continued until Cas finally said, “Stop. There, to your right, is an old piano. I fixed and tuned it yesterday. I know you play.”

“Of course you do,” Dean smiled. He often played in the theater after rehearsals.

“Play for me.”

Dean sat on the bench, meticulously clean. The piano was an old baby grand, chipped and worn, but shiny, like it was recently cleaned. He ran his fingers along the lacquered front. Tuning a piano took some time and effort, and fixing a broken string was nearly impossible without a professional and that kind of equipment. This was definitely a gift. “What would you like to hear today?”

“A love song,” Cas said softly.

A love song- that was a very broad topic. Dean didn’t have to think very long though. He remembered one evening when his mother was alive, before his father had begun drinking. Soft music had been playing downstairs in his old house. He was maybe four, but he remembered peeking through the railing bars and seeing his parents swaying quietly in the kitchen together. The thought brought a wet prickling sensation to his eyes, but he ignored it and instead began to play.

“Wise men say only fools rush in,” he sang softly, piano keys drawing out a softer tune of the original Elvis song. “But I can’t help falling in love with you.” Back in the deep recesses of his mind, that’s what Dean wanted: someone to love him like that. It was over too quickly, and Dean sat back, waiting.

Cas’ voice was rough, as if he too had been holding back tears. “Are you falling in love with me, Dean Winchester?”

Dean’s mouth immediately went dry. His heartbeat increased rapidly, and his palms began to sweat. “I...” How did he respond to that? His immediate answer was absolutely not. He had been in this place only three times, and Cas had kidnapped him to begin with. He hadn’t even seen this man! And yet here he was, ecstatic to by hypnotized and taken away from his brother just to hear the voice that haunted his dreams for almost two months. Could one fall in love with a dream? “I-I don’t know,” he stammered honestly.

Cas said nothing in return. Dean gripped the piano tightly. He didn’t like these ‘chick-flick’ moments where he had to talk about feelings. He didn’t like it, but he felt compelled to say more. “I’ve never seen you. I’ve heard you three times in my whole life, and the first time you brought me here I had no idea what was going on, but...” He stopped for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I think about you a lot. I dream about you. And I was so damn excited to see you after the show tonight. I was worried that you wouldn’t come get me because Sam was there, but you came and I’m willing to endure his bitchface for hours just to be here again.” He chuckled. “My stomach is in knots and I feel like I’m going to throw up and I never want to leave.” As the words left his mouth, Dean’s stomach twisted into tighter knots. It sure as hell sounded like love, judging by the strength of Sam’s bitchface.

“I’ve never been in love before,” Cas said after a while.

“It’s difficult,” Dean sighed.

“I can feel that,” came Cas’ quiet reply. Was that a confession? Was Cas in love with him? Dean closed his eyes. That made him feel very warm inside, and it probably shouldn’t have.

“I met Gabriel today,” Dean changed subjects rapidly.

“Oh?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, I asked about you. You never told me that you give tickets away to orphans and the homeless.” Dean stood again and started walking again, coming close to a corner of the building.

“I did not think it of import,” Cas sounded curious. “Why were you asking about me?”

Dean sat down on a chest of drawers. “You won’t tell me about yourself much, so I did some research. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone about our little parties.”

“Thank you,” Cas sounded like he was amused.

“And you know, I could have risen to stardom on my own,” Dean teased, leaning back on his hands. “Michael and Lucifer could have stayed.”

“I didn’t want to wait,” Cas said simply.

“Impatient, hmm?”

Cas chuckled. Dean glanced around. He was as close to the corner of the building as was possible, but there were at least thirty more feet to the wall behind the tower of junk. The Winchester stood on top of the chest of drawers and grasped the top of the bookshelf behind it firmly. “Dean,” Cas said warningly, “What are you doing?”

“Exploring,” Dean grunted, pulling himself up and climbing further. Maybe Cas was behind there. Maybe he could see him.

“Dean, stop!” Cas commanded just as Dean fell over the top of the stuff wall and slid down to the floor.

There in front of him was a makeshift room. A large four-poster bed was pushed against the corner, fluffy comforters and mismatching pillows strewn about. Dozens of books loomed in towers next to a worn writing desk with a lamp sitting atop it. A wardrobe lay open on its side, displaying a variety of pants and shoes, but nothing else. And no Cas. “Do you live here?”

“I do,” Cas sounded cautious.

Dean paced around the room slowly, inspecting everything he could. Cas was silent. Dean finally came to stand in front of the inviting bed. It was huge and looked cozy, like he’d sink right down into it. “You can sit if you like,” Cas said softly. Dean sat and sunk comfortably, just like he thought he would.

“Can I see you?” Dean asked carefully.

There was a pause. “Not today.”

Dean huffed internally. “Then can I at least come back a little sooner? Waiting for a month every time is killing me.”

Dean could hear the smile in Cas’ voice. “Is it?”

“Yes,” Dean swallowed.

“You may come back in one week’s time, at midnight.”

Dean smiled to himself. “I can do that.”

“Shall I sing to you now?”

Dean shut his eyes tightly. “Can I have another minute or two here?”

A throaty chuckle echoed around him as he lay back onto the mattress.

“Cas?” Dean asked after a while.

“Yes, Dean?”

He picked at his nails bashfully. “Do you talk to other people? You know, like this, in here?”

“Only you.” Cas then began to sing softly as ever. Dean struggled to stay awake for as long as possible, memorizing every note that fell into his mind, but as were the rules, he was asleep in minutes.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean woke before Sam did, his giant of a brother snoring softly in the armchair. “Hey, Sam,” Dean poked at the taller man’s arm. “Sammy!”

Sam sat bolt upright, looking around the room wildly. “What happened?” he asked.

“We fell asleep,” Dean hid the smile he felt coming.

Sam stared at him for a second, shocked. “God dammit!” he yelled, jumping up. “What time is it?”

Dean checked the phone he had placed on the table. It read 3:45. He relayed the time to Sam and he groaned. “That’s it,” the younger Winchester huffed. “I’m having this room checked for gas leaks. Something isn’t right.”

“Did you have any weird dreams?” Dean asked, snatching up his things and following Sam, who had just barreled out of the room.

“No, nothing,” Sam threw back over his shoulder. “Did you?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nope, just sleep,” Dean shrugged.

The next morning, Sam called the theater’s maintenance crew and had them check Dean’s dressing room. Dean was moved to a different room for several days, which felt strange and foreign. He had come to associate the room with Cas, and now he felt lonely. Still, he only had to wait one week to see Cas this time.

He auditioned for Hairspray! next, but asked Kripke for a slightly smaller role than he usually got. “I just need a little break, and then I’ll go for whatever you want me to play,” he told him. Kripke acquiesced and gave him the part of Corny Collins; it was a decently sized role, but not a lead.

The entire week, Dean was restless. He barely slept, and when he did, Cas’ voice echoed in his head. He kept thinking about those words, resonating all the way to Dean’s core. Are you falling in love with me, Dean Winchester? As he thought about it, the answer morphed from ‘I don’t know’ to ‘maybe’. If he didn’t feel so strongly about Cas, why would his stomach knot up just thinking about him? Why would he have such intense physical reactions to his words? Why, for the love of god, would he center his life around someone who kidnaps him and refuses to show his face?

They had their second rehearsal that Friday, the day Dean was put back into his old dressing room. “I’ll be out late, Sammy, don’t wait up!” Dean had told his brother.

“Going to see someone special, are we?” Sam grinned and elbowed him in the ribs. Dean laughed, but didn’t reply.

All throughout rehearsal, Dean was anxious. He was only called out once, when he zoned out for an entrance. Thank god he had a minor role.

“Hey, are you okay?” an actress named Jo asked him.

“Yeah, fine,” was all he could say, tapping his foot restlessly.

When the rehearsal was over, Dean bolted from the room. He scarfed some food down a block from the theater, then snuck back into his dressing room. Unsurprisingly, there had been no gas leaks. Less than an hour until midnight, he thought. The food might have been a bad idea; the butterflies in his stomach made him nauseous. Get it together, Winchester, he thought, setting down his phone.

Dean laid out several different outfits in anticipation for seeing Cas again. Cas seemed to like seeing Dean in different clothes. The Winchester sat on the couch in the garb he wore for rehearsal: sweatpants and a t-shirt. In front of him was a suit, too formal, jeans and a button up shirt, too normal, and a few other pieces that he suddenly didn’t like. He sat, brooding, when he heard it all too soon: humming.

All thoughts about clothing were lost as the music floated through his mind. His eyes glazed over and he followed Cas’ call.

\- - -

There he was, same position as every time before. Compared to the last few times, it felt like minutes since he had seen the room. Still, his heartbeat sped up and his stomach flipped like a gymnast.

“Dean,” Cas’ voice instantly relaxed the Winchester.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean smiled at the air. “I, uh, forgot to change, sorry,” he nervously tugged on his shirt.

“Don’t be,” Cas’ voice was so warm. “It makes you look at home here. Do you feel safe here?”

“Yes,” Dean replied immediately. Despite everything Gabriel had said, Dean felt an overwhelming sense of right in this place.

“I’m glad you suggested to shorten the waiting period between our visits,” Cas said as Dean began to walk. “I grow anxious the longer you are away.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean murmured, finding the chest of drawers from a week ago. Climb over the wall and he’d be in Cas’ little room. Dean looked at the ceiling. “Cas, can I...?”

He seemed to get the message. “You may.” Dean clambered over the mountain of props and into Cas’ “bedroom.” It was tidier than Dean’s last visit; the wardrobe was upright and closed, the books were shelved neatly away, and the bed was made.

“It looks so clean,” Dean teased, running his hand along one of the posters of the bed.

Cas sounded a bit embarrassed. “I thought I’d tidy up a bit, um, in case you wanted to visit this corner again.”

“Good guess,” Dean smiled.

“Sing to me.”

“What would you like to hear?”

Cas was quiet for a moment. “Something that makes you think of me.”

Dean leaned against the poster. What did Dean think of Cas? He had pondered the question more times in the last week than he had pondered anything in several years. Cas was a recluse, someone who, to his knowledge, only interacted with Dean. He hid himself, refused to be seen. Dean knew that to be a sign of fear or hatred of oneself. He had been this way for a while because the angel legend was very old. He felt negatively towards himself, and yet he was kind. He gave tickets to orphans. He saved people from life threatening situations. He somehow obtained money to save the theater.

Dean knew that Cas was more than he was treating himself, and the thought saddened Dean. The Winchester knew self-hatred, his father had taught him that much, and he couldn’t wish that sort of shitty feeling on anyone, least of all Cas. He didn’t know how, but he wanted to show Cas that he thought he was more. He wanted to show Cas that he should accept himself, or forgive himself, or do whatever needs to be done to rid him of this need of the dark.

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,” he sang softly. “Take these broken wings and learn to fly.” Yes, this song reminded him of Cas. Cas was always so in control, ordering this and demanding that, but he was always so mindful of Dean. He praised him and gave him gifts, in his own way. He wanted, needed, companionship. And he found that in Dean, who was very willing to give it. “You were only waiting for this moment to arise.” The room went quiet.

Dean heard a sharp exhale of breath. He wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. “Turn around,” Cas commanded softly. Dean obeyed, wondering where Cas would direct him next. After a moment, a soft thump sounded behind him. “Dean,” Cas said. The voice was directly behind him, no echo or movement. Cas was actually there.

Goosebumps erupted over Dean’s skin, and he stood stock still. Cas was right there. Cas was right there. Dean wanted to whirl around and see what he’d been imagining for over two months, but he didn’t want to spook him. “Can I see you, Cas?” Dean’s voice was rough.

“Why did you choose that song?” Cas asked. His voice sounded more human behind Dean, less frightening and more alluring. Dean could hear the slight rasp in the low bass voice. A little shudder ran up his spine.

“It makes me think of you,” Dean answered carefully. “because for whatever reason you hide in here, I think you deserve to do whatever you want. To fly.”

There was a long pause, the only sound Dean’s labored breathing. Then, four words that sent his heart into his throat. “Look at me, Dean.”

Dean closed his eyes and turned slowly until he knew he was facing Cas straight on. He opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was blue, the startling shade of deep blue that one might find in a clear ocean. He knew he could easily get lost in the blue, but his need for more drew his eyes away. His nose was perfectly straight, leading Dean’s eyes down to pale lips. They were full, with a perfect cupid’s bow. Messy dark hair stuck up on his head, the same color scruff dotting his jaw. A strong jaw at that. Dean momentarily wondered what it would feel like under his fingertips. He followed the long column of throat down to a clasp of a lumpy black cloak. The fabric hid most of his body, but a thin stripe of skin trailing down to the waist of his slacks told Dean there was no shirt beneath the cloak.

“Stop that,” Cas said. The lips moved and skin worked over the jaw and the voice came out, that disembodied voice he’d been dreaming of for months. The sight combined with the sound set fire to Dean’s nerve endings.

“S-Stop what?” Dean stuttered.

Cas’ eyebrows drew together. “Stop biting your lip, it’s distracting.”

Dean pressed his lips together, unaware he was even biting them in the first place. Cas was gorgeous.

“You’re gorgeous,” Dean echoed his thoughts. “Why would you want to hide?”

Cas let out a heavy breath, Dean’s eyes immediately snapping to the rise and fall of his chest. The blue eyes closed and Cas’ head turned away from Dean, as if he was bracing himself. His hands rose to the clasp of the cloak, long, elegant fingers swiftly freeing it of it’s bonds. He let the cloak slide off his shoulders. Dean marveled for a moment at the sharp planes of Cas’ stomach, skin stretched tightly over perfect muscle, the two lines from his hip bones disappearing into the waistband of his pants.

Dean spent maybe two seconds appreciating Cas’ form before he saw a twitch in the darkness behind Cas. “Do not run,” Cas commanded, eyes blazing. Ever so slowly, huge, jet black wings extended from his back, spanning around ten feet. Dean’s breath caught in his throat. The wings were glossy and smooth and absolutely...

“Beautiful,” Dean repeated, mesmerized.

Once again, Cas’ brows drew together. “What?”

Dean was only partially aware that his feet were slowly carrying him towards Cas. “Blackbird,” Dean murmured. “I get it.” The dark feathers were almost as mesmerizing as his voice. The blue-eyed man’s face was unreadable as Dean stepped right up to him. Dean’s hand rose towards one black wing and stopped cold as Cas growled. He growled.

Dean looked sideways at Cas, who didn’t meet his eyes. After a moment of stillness, Dean’s hand moved and brushed the feathers lightly. They were incredibly soft. Cas’ eyes dropped closed and he unmistakably shivered. The Winchester reached up further to run his fingers through the feathers, but Cas stepped back quickly.

“My turn to observe,” he said. “Stay still.” Dean froze. He felt Cas’ eyes rake down his body like nails. The man circled him slowly, observing, as he said. Dean’s eyelids closed as Cas stepped behind him. A warm finger touched Dean’s shoulder and slid down his shoulder blade before disappearing. He could feel the heat radiating off of Cas and struggled to control his body’s response. There was a touch on Dean’s inner arm, and Cas’ fingers slid down to his wrist, which he turned gently until Dean’s hand was palm-up. Dean’s eyes finally opened to see Cas stroke his fingers one at a time before letting his hand go entirely. Blue eyes traveled up his chest to his collar bone, which he traced lightly. Dean couldn’t repress the hitch in his breathing as Cas’ skin made contact with his neck. Their eyes locked again, and Cas swiped his thumb across Dean’s lower lip, which parted automatically. Though he was the one wearing the most clothes, Dean had never felt so exposed, so intimate.

“You are exquisite, Dean,” Cas murmured, finally stepping back. “So much that you cannot know the meaning.” His wings fluttered close to his back.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, still breathless.

Cas’ head tilted slightly. “Yes, Dean?”

Dean laughed nervously, picking at the hem of his shirt. “I don’t know, I’m... I guess I’m kind of speechless.” He swallowed thickly. “Can I touch your wings again?” Cas nodded almost imperceptibly.

Dean approached Cas again, less afraid. The looming black wings quivered ever so slightly, betraying Cas’ nervousness. His eyes were curious now, staring at Dean without the glare of a predatory animal.

Dean’s fingers touched one long feather, rubbing it between his fingers gently. Cas’ breath hitched. It felt like strands of silk molded to look like a feather. Dean pressed his fingers more firmly through those feathers, stroking carefully from the top to the bottom of the wing, and Cas’ head fell backwards, a little noise escaping his throat.

Dean’s other hand came up to the neglected wing and traced around to where wing met skin. He felt pressure on his hips, Cas’ fingers gripping in an almost bruising hold. The touch sparked electricity under Dean’s skin. He ached for more.

“Do you like this?” Dean asked, not even trying to hide his grin.

“It feels... very pleasurable to me,” Cas growled.

Dean could almost feel his eyes darkening. Feeling bold, he grasped a handful of feathers and tugged. A small cry escaped Cas’ lips and his hips twitched forward, his eyes screwing shut.

Dean’s entire body was tingling, his face surely flushed. “Cas,” his voice already sounded wrecked. “You’re gorgeous.”

“No one has ever said that to me before,” the blue-eyed man shuddered as Dean’s hands left his wings and opted to trail down his arms. Cas’ hands rucked up Dean’s shirt to slide over his skin.

“Well they should.” His hands stopped. “Have you ever been touched like this before? Or, uh, other kinds of ways?” God that sounded awkward, but Dean wanted more and he wouldn’t push this man if he didn’t know what he was getting into.

“No,” Cas replied, “but I am not ignorant to the mechanics of such things.”

Dean chuckled at his formal words. “Um,” Dean muttered, suddenly shy. “Do you want to...?” He didn’t even know exactly what he was asking. Did he want a kiss? More? Cas seemed to know even if Dean didn’t.

“I’ve wanted to for several weeks now,” his voice dropped even lower, but he let go of Dean. Dean was immediately cold. “Do you want to?”

Dean sighed contently. “God yes.”

He couldn’t look away from those blue eyes. Cas’ hands ran up his chest over his shirt and drew up to Dean’s face, fingers tangling in the dirty blonde hair. Dean heard the blood rushing in his ears as Cas tilted Dean’s head and slowly brought their lips together.

God, Cas’ lips were so soft. He smelled like freshly lacquered wood and rose petals and something spicy, Dean felt like he would drown in it. Cas’ lips parted and that was all the incentive Dean needed to surge forward, deepening the kiss. He nipped as Cas’ bottom lip and when the man gasped, he slid his tongue ever so carefully inside. Dean’s arms wrapped around Cas’ waist and Cas’ hands tightened in Dean’s hair. Dean shivered as the winged man moaned, vibrations rocking him straight to his core.

Cas mirrored his movements and bit Dean’s lip. Dean’s hands rose up and grasped Cas’ wings. Suddenly, he was pushed back against a wall, Cas’ body pressed against his. “Fuck,” Dean moaned as Cas attached his lips to Dean’s throat. That had gone from zero to sixty in no time flat, and Dean felt a fire spark in his stomach that told him, more!

“I like the color this makes,” Cas murmured, nipping at the skin of Dean’s throat. Cas angled his hips and both men cried out as their erections brushed together.

“Ungh,” Dean choked out, almost overwhelmed. “We should be horizontal.”

With a flutter of wings, Cas gripped Dean’s hips and he was hoisted up into his arms. The blue-eyed man crushed their lips together and didn’t stop until Dean was set comfortably onto the bed.

“Take your shirt off,” he commanded, kneeling on the bed beside Dean.

The Winchester struggled to comply, yanking off the offending garment and tossing it somewhere off the bed. Cas loomed over him, staring. His wings spanned to their full width, almost possessively. “Perfect,” Cas murmured, tracing the hard-earned lines on Dean’s stomach. He struggled not to squirm under Cas. When the blue-eyed man’s hand spread flat on his chest, Dean reached up. “Be still,” Cas commanded again, pushing Dean back onto the bed.

Dean gripped the sheets below him, staying down no matter how badly he wanted to touch Cas. He hovered over Dean, never bringing their bodies together. Dean inclined his head and Cas acquiesced to his wordless plea; he kissed him softly. His demeanor had changed, all the aggressive power had melted into gentle commands.

“Cas,” Dean gasped when he moved to his neck.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas pulled his earlobe between his teeth.

“I... uhhh,” he gave a breathy moan and Cas chuckled against his collarbone, sending low vibrations through Dean’s body.

Cas switched directions and moved slowly down Dean’s arm, kissing and nipping, copying every motion that earned him a moan. He was a fast learner. An openmouthed kiss was pressed to Dean’s wrist, and Dean couldn’t help carding that hand through the dark hair. Cas hummed against Dean’s wrist, then repeated his entire process with the other arm.

“Stay,” he told Dean when he tried to get up.

“You’re killing me here,” Dean huffed, forcing himself back onto the mattress.

Cas pressed a quick kiss to his lips and then, painstakingly, made his way down Dean’s chest. His tongue laved over Dean’s jugular and found some choice pieces of soft skin, kissing and sucking until a pretty purple bruise lay at each one. “Mine,” he whispered into Dean’s skin.

Dean hadn’t known his nipples were so sensitive until he felt Cas’ hot breath on them. He was slowly losing his ability to speak, and arched off the bed when the blue-eyed man sealed his lips over one. He moved so slowly- it was agonizing. The talented tongue made its way down Dean’s taut planes of muscle.

At this point in time, Dean had abandoned the sheets and was gripping the headboard tightly, doubting his willpower. As Cas moved to lick at his hipbones, Dean began to sweat. “God, Cas, please,” he begged as Cas’ face hovered over Dean’s straining erection.

Teasingly, Cas slid the elastic of Dean’s sweats down his legs and onto the floor, followed quickly by his briefs. The Winchester lay there completely bare and already shaking. Cas rose slowly, standing on top of the bed gracefully. His wings flexed as he popped the button on the black slacks, blue eyes boring into Dean’s. The pants were dropped. Apparently, Cas went commando.

Dean licked his lips. Cas’ length was a bit thinner than his, but longer. It looked diamond hard and Dean had the immediate urge to swallow it down. He sat up, but before he could reach for the winged man, he was pushed back down. “You’re going first,” he growled.

Dean made a choked noise and lay back, bunching a pillow behind his head so he could see exactly what Cas was doing. The man ran his fingers up and down Dean’s hipbones, then gripped them tightly in his hands and held them down. Hot breath from Cas’ mouth ghosted over Dean’s member, making him shudder. Cas then licked a long stripe up the underside of Dean and closed his lips around the head.

“Ahh, fuck,” Dean moaned. Cas’ mouth was so hot and wet and- shit! Cas slid his mouth down several inches and sucked inwards. Dean let out a wordless plea when Cas repeated the motion, painfully slow. He couldn’t help it anymore; Dean’s hands immediately knotted in Cas’ raven-black hair, gripping tightly to anchor himself.

Cas continued the slow torture and Dean’s hands wandered down Cas’ neck, searching for the top of his wings. They were sensitive, and he wanted Cas to feel the slow burn that he was giving Dean. After a moment, he found the soft feathers and pushed his fingers through them.

Cas moaned deeply around Dean, and the vibrations nearly sent Dean over the edge. The green-eyed man cried out, grasping the wing more tightly. His fingers raked towards the middle of Cas’ back and stopped when they felt something round and slick.

Dean ran a finger over the little nub and Cas gasped, pulling off Dean completely. Curiously, he pressed more firmly, ripping a desperate noise from Cas’ throat. His fingers were definitely slick with something, and a delicious aroma was gradually filling his nose.

Cas was frozen above him, panting. Dean retracted his fingers, examining the shiny substance. It smelled sweet and enticing. Without thinking about it, he put his fingers into his mouth, sucking the slippery substance off. It tasted like honey and made his insides tingle. Cas growled and Dean’s head snapped up, the predatory gaze returning.

Without preamble, Cas gripped the back of Dean’s thighs and pushed them up to his chest, exposing him completely. Something warm traced his tight hole and he let out a breathy whimper. That was most definitely Cas’ tongue. The whimper urged the other man on, and Cas pushed more firmly against the puckered skin. White hot lines of fire burned up Dean’s insides as Cas licked him thoroughly, hands holding his thighs firmly though Dean’s hips were unconsciously bucking upwards. Dean was burning up all over, unaware of his desperate babble of, “CaspleaseohgodCasfuckpleasepleaseCas.”

He was only vaguely aware of Cas reaching behind himself and grunting into Dean’s skin. When the warmth disappeared, Dean let out a surprisingly high pitched whine. The whine was choked off when Cas’ finger stroked Dean’s relaxed hole, slick, sweet oil seeping into the pink skin.

“You must tell me if you are uncomfortable,” Cas growled out, voice almost as wrecked as Dean felt.

“Don’t stop,” Dean gasped, attempting to push his hips up, needing more. “Don’t you dare stop.”

Cas licked his lips and pushed passed the first ring of muscle, earning a whimper from Dean. Ever so slowly, he slid his finger all the way inside the Winchester. “Oh, Dean,” he breathed, wings arching at the thought of him inside that tight heat.

“Pleasepleaseplease,” Dean’s voice was high pitched and breathy. He needed more, more. Cas added another finger and spread them, widening the entrance a bit. He changed angles and Dean cried out, hands fisting in Cas’ sheets. Nonsense syllables fell from his mouth. Cas watched, transfixed, as Dean came apart under him. A third finger was added, the slippery oil now dripping from his entrance. “Cas please!” Dean sobbed, almost pulling hard enough to rip the sheets.

“Yes,” Cas rumbled, removing his fingers and slicking up his own length in his oil. “Yes, Dean.” He let Dean’s legs down and they immediately wrapped around his waist. The blunt head of Cas’ member rested against Dean’s entrance.

Dean was about to whine when Cas didn’t move, but the blue-eyed man instead brought his oily hand up to Dean’s mouth. “Lick,” he commanded, and Dean eagerly lapped every bit of slick from Cas’ hand. When it was clean, the slender fingers slid into Dean’s hair. Cas blanketed Dean and kissed him, slowly and deeply.

Dean gasped and bit down on Cas’ lip as he sheathed himself in Dean’s heat. “Fuck,” he repeated Dean’s vernacular. Dean’s hands scrambled for purchase, settling on Cas’ wings. He pulled out, ever so slowly and pushed back in, wings flexing under Dean’s fingers.

“God, Cas,” Dean breathed, reveling in the sweet burn that inched up his spine. Cas set a slow, punishing pace that left Dean sweating and shaking beneath the winged man. Cas mouthed around Dean’s neck, kissing and nipping as he moved. “More, please, Cas,” Dean begged, raking his nails down a shiny black wing.

Cas gasped into Dean’s neck and slammed his hips forward, hitting the sweet spot inside him. Dean cried out wordlessly, grip tightening in the feathers. Cas’ speed increased rapidly, finding Dean’s prostate with nearly every stroke. He felt like he was going to split in half, and it was delicious.

“Dean,” Cas murmured, “My Dean.”

The green-eyed man was so close, so very close, and he needed Cas to come with him. With his last bit of clarity, he felt along Cas’ wings to the little nubs and pressed down, hard.

A feral kind of cry ripped out of Cas’ throat and he rammed into Dean one last time. The warmth and the sweet honey smell pushed Dean over the edge untouched, muscles tightening as electricity hit his core.

After a few minutes, he felt Cas’ forehead drop onto his, the other man’s arms shaking. “C’mere,” Dean slurred, pulling Cas down next to him and gently sliding off his softening member. Cas seemed to be in shock, unable to speak. He just looked at Dean, pulse racing. It struck him then.

_Have you ever been touched like this? Or, uh, other kinds of way?_

_No, but I am not ignorant to the mechanics of such things._

Cas had been a virgin, and that put a stupid grin on Dean’s face. He threw his arm around Cas’ middle, fitting his head under his chin. “That was amazing,” he said to Cas’ chest. At once, he felt the man’s muscles relax and an arm wrap around him.

“It was good?” Cas asked quietly, wiping Dean off with a bit of fabric and pulling the blanket up and over them.

“The best,” Dean sighed. “You’re a quick learner.”

Cas chuckled, tucking his wings securely around Dean. They lay like that for a moment before Cas began singing softly. Dean felt his eyes droop. “Wait,” he pushed himself up to look at the blue-eyed man. “I don’t want to fall asleep. I want to hear you sing the whole time.”

Cas pressed a kiss to Dean’s forehead and began to sing again, this time, in english. His voice was a little less deep now, a little more gravelly. “As long as he needs me...” It was a song from Oliver, one that Dean hadn’t heard often, but in Cas’ voice, it sounded like the greatest song in the world. “As long as he needs me, I know where I must be. I'll cling on steadfastly, as long as he needs me...”

The song finished beautifully, and Dean felt himself holding Cas tighter in his grip. Somewhere in the song, Cas began to card his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean envisioned Cas in his room, making food in the morning in his kitchen, laughing and walking down a street, holding hands. The idea of Cas with him every day, being together made his heart flutter. He had been fighting them for a while, but when it came to feelings with Cas... he was gone. Dean hadn’t been in love for a long time, but this felt a hell of a lot like it.

“Why do you hide, Cas?” Dean asked.

Cas’ fingers stopped. “You see me differently, Dean,” he sighed. “You said ‘beautiful’ when you saw my wings. When I was younger, people said different words.” Dean propped himself up to look at Cas, but the blue eyes refused to meet his. “I was told I was a demon child, that I was unnatural and evil. My wings were broken and bound and I was sent to live in a monastery when I was five. I had no parents before that.” He closed his eyes. “I was taught to hate myself, to think that I could never repent or be loved. The more I was told I was bad, the more I believed it.

“After several years, the monastery was abandoned and I was sent to live in the basement of a catholic church down the street from this theater. The nuns were afraid of me, and beat me. One day, I snapped.” Cas was silent for a long time, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to break it. “Twenty-three people died in the fire,” he whispered. “The church was closed, but the basement stayed untouched.” He swept his hand around them. So this was the church basement.

“I sealed myself in, prepared to die for what I’d done, when I heard the music coming from down the street. There’s a little tunnel that leads to the theater from here, I don’t know why. I figured out that if I stay out of sight, I can watch the plays. They made me feel whole again, and so I stay hidden and watch.”

Dean let out a breath and felt wetness on his cheeks. Tears; he was crying. “This is why I brought you here after Les Mis,” Cas continued, meeting Dean’s watery gaze. “You were out of place at first, but you are so beautiful. I saw how fierce you are, how courageous, and thought: that is who I want to be. I brought you here to observe you, but I have received much more than that.”

Dean couldn’t help himself. He surged forward to claim Cas’ lips, attempting to convey his sorrow and acceptance and love. There was gentle pressure on his cheek, Cas’ thumb wiping away the tears. “I love you,” Dean muttered to him.

Cas’ breath hitched. “And I you, Dean.”

They stayed like that, tangled together until Dean drifted off to sleep naturally.


	4. Chapter 4

The haze in front of Dean’s eyes cleared slowly, his eyes unwilling to wake. He shifted and found himself wrapped around a warm body. His eyes snapped open. This was not his dressing room like he always expected it to be, this was Cas’ place.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas’ voice rumbled in his chest.

“I’m still here,” Dean’s voice was raspy with sleep. “You let me stay.”

“I figured you needed sleep, and...” his adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I wanted to wake with you. Will your brother mind?”

Dean rubbed his eyes and chuckled. “I’ll make something up. Sammy’ll just think I stayed over after my date.” Cas raised his eyebrows. “It’s not lying,” Dean sat up and stretched his back. “He just didn’t know who my date was or where we were going.”

Warm fingers crept up Dean’s spine, and he hummed at the touch. “When do you need to be home?” Cas asked softly.

“Probably early,” Dean sighed. “What time is it now?”

Cas looked to his grandfather clock. “Half past seven in the morning.”

Dean sighed. “I should probably go now. Even though I really like it here.” He punctuated that statement with a comfortable stretch under the covers. His eyes screwed shut, but he could feel Cas’ warm fingers traveling down his bare chest.

“You couldn’t spare maybe... fifteen minutes?” Cas’ voice deepened as his hand wrapped around Dean’s morning wood.

Dean moaned. “I definitely could.” Before Cas could move over him, Dean straddled Cas and kissed him hard. “And I didn’t get to do something last time.”

Cas laid back, a little gleam of amusement in his eyes. “As you wish,” he murmured, sighing as Dean kissed his way down his chest. Cas’ member stared him in the face, and a little warm tingle ran through him. Last night, Cas had taken care of him very well, and it was his turn to return the favor.

Cas’ wings stretched under him as Dean’s mouth made its way languidly down his chest. He nipped at the winged-man’s hipbone, drawing a sharp inhale of breath from Cas.

Teasingly, as Cas had been the night before, Dean licked a slow stripe up the bottom of Cas’ length. “Dean,” Cas murmured, carding his fingers through the Winchester’s hair. Dean kept the strokes of his tongue light, not yet taking Cas all the way into his mouth. Cas had started to shake, gripping Dean’s hair tightly. “Tease,” he gasped, back arching as Dean flicked his tongue against the slit.

Dean chuckled and put Cas out of his misery, swallowing him down as much as he could. Cas bit his lip, but that didn’t stop the debauched moan that reverberated from his throat. Dean hollowed his cheeks and Cas’ nails dug into his scalp. The painful sensation was surprisingly pleasurable, and Dean moaned around Cas’ member.

What Dean couldn’t fit his mouth over he stroked with his hand. His painfully hard length was trapped between himself in the bed, and he swiveled his hips to relieve some of the pressure. Cas thrust shallowly into Dean’s mouth, lost once again in sensation. “Dean,” Cas growled.

Dean’s movements grew faster, erratic. Castiel’s muscles tensed under him. The only warning Dean was given was a choked off, “Dean, I’m-” before Cas arched up with a cry and spilled into Dean’s mouth.

The Winchester swallowed every drop, licking his lips as he released Cas. After a few moments, the winged-man’s eyes opened, pupils still blown with lust. Dean’s eyes mirrored his. When he shifted, the pressure on his member changed and he let out a low whine.

Cas gripped him tightly and hauled him up to lay next to him. He draped himself half over Dean and grasped the neglected length firmly. “Come for me, Dean,” he commanded, biting down hard on Dean’s neck.

Fire exploded up Dean’s spine and he came with a very loud, “Cas!”

The green-eyed man melted back into the bed, limbs heavy. “Mmm,” he hummed.

“Mmm, indeed,” Cas nuzzled his cheek. “Don’t fall asleep again.” Dean gave a pitiful whine and Cas chuckled. “Your brother will be waiting.”

“Dammit, Sammy,” Dean muttered, rolling over and sitting up.

He had just grabbed his sweats from the floor when Cas placed a hand on his cheek and pulled his gaze to meet his blue eyes. “I’ve decided that I want to see you.” Dean’s breath hitched. What did that mean? “I love you. And I cannot be away from you for long, or I fear I may lose my sanity. Please come visit me, day or night, multiple times within a twenty-four hour period, if you like.”

A grin spread across Dean’s face. Cas’ words sent a shiver through him, though something different than arousal. Love. He hadn’t felt that in a long time. “Whatever you like, Angel,” Dean donned his sweatpants and handed Cas his slacks. “I’d like that too.”

With one graceful motion, Cas slid his pants on and buttoned them. Meanwhile, Dean struggled with the t-shirt. Sweat shone on his back from their recent activities, and the tight fabric clung to him. “Allow me,” Cas’ deft fingers pulled Dean’s shirt down his torso, tracing his skin as he did so. How did he make getting dressed a pleasurable experience? “It’s a shame you must wear clothes so often,” Cas breathed in Dean’s ear. “Something so beautiful shouldn’t be constantly covered.”

Dean gave Cas a serious look. “I could say the same about you,” he murmured, tracing the top of one black wing lightly.

Cas closed his eyes and rested his forehead on Dean’s. “I may not be prepared to be out in the world,” the winged-man said softly, “but you have put a little bit of hope back in me. That is something no one has even tried to do. And...” he took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes. “And if someone like you can accept me so wholeheartedly, maybe I can attempt to accept myself.”

Dean smiled up at this amazing, impossible man. “That would be wonderful,” he breathed, cupping the pale face in his hand. Ever so gently, their lips met. The kiss was slow and languid. Dean tried to convey every emotion he was feeling: love, hope, happiness, pride. Cas’ fingers threaded gently into Dean’s hair as his tongue swept along his bottom lip. The outside world grew distant and warmth bubbled in Dean’s chest.

“Dean?!” a familiar voice ripped Dean from the embrace. “What the actual fuck?” A clattering noise accompanied the form of Sam slipping down the mountain of furniture and props. Shit.

“Sam-”

“Dean! Why the hell are you-” Sam brushed himself off and stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes zeroed in on the space behind Dean. Cas.

The winged-man stood in a rigid pose of defense, wings flexing outwards as if to scare off predators. His teeth were bared and his eyes were wild. He looked quite scary in that moment. Sam took a shaky step forward and Cas took as immediate step back.

“Sam, stop!” Dean exclaimed in his big brother voice. “Cas,” he turned to his angel. “Cas it’s okay, it’s just Sam.” He placed his hands on Cas’ frozen shoulders, but the man didn’t move, eyes still locked on Sam. “Castiel, look at me,” Dean commanded, pulling his face towards him.

Cas moved only his eyes to clash with Dean’s. There was so much fear in them, and dread, and hopelessness. “No,” he whispered.

“Holy shit,” Sam’s voice floated from behind the two. “It’s real! It’s fucking real!” Sam took several quick steps in their direction, and before Dean could tell Sam to stop again, Cas had kicked off from the ground and rocketed towards the very small, blacked-out window of the basement.

“Cas! Please Cas, come back!” Dean called, fear rising in his chest. The winged-man ignored him, smashing the glass easily and climbing out. He was gone.

Dean whirled on Sam, fear morphing to anger. “What the fuck, Sam?” he yelled.

“What the fuck to you too, Dean?” Sam yelled right back. “I called your phone and a cleaning lady picked up! She said you’d been in your dressing room all night! I came to see if you were okay and the mirror turned out to be a fucking door!”

“Will you just shut up for a second, Sam?” Dean’s hands clenched, but his brother continued.

“No! I went through this weird-ass tunnel, terrified that my brother had been abducted and killed! And what do I find? The same brother in this fucking creepy basement, making out with a man with fucking wings!” Sam was breathing heavily. “You have no right to tell me to shut up!”

Some of the anger leaked out of Dean. Sam had been scared for him. He had come to help Dean, unknowing of his strange relationship. Dean was still fuming, but more worried. Cas was gone. Cas hadn’t been out of the basement in years. He was going to be seen or get himself hurt, and Dean wouldn’t be there to protect him.

“Sam, you don’t understand-”

“You’re damn right I don’t. We’re going home, and you’re going to tell me everything.” Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and used his huge stature to yank Dean over the wall of stuff and through the tunnel. Dean tried to shake his brother off, but Sam’s hand stayed clamped on his arm all the way out the dressing room.

Dean was dragged the entire way to the apartment, earning several strange looks from early morning passers-by. Sam didn’t stop and didn’t look at Dean until both Winchesters were in their apartment with the door locked behind them.

“Explain,” Sam said menacingly. Dean rubbed his eyes and put a pot of coffee on. It was barely eight in the morning.

“He is not an it,” Dean started with a hard edge to his voice. “His name is Castiel, and as you recently saw, I care about him.”

“No, you start from the beginning,” Sam folded his arms across his chest and stood in between Dean and the door, as if he would try to escape at any second.

Dean sighed. “You remember the first time I disappeared after a show til early in the morning-”

“That was months ago, Dean!” Sam exclaimed.

“Shut the fuck up, Sam! You said you wanted to know!” Dean’s anger was back in full force. He didn’t care that he might wake everyone in the building up. “Let me tell the damn story!”

Sam clamped his mouth shut and glared daggers at his brother. Dean gave him the bare minimum through clenched teeth. “That dream I told you about wasn’t a dream. After the first night of all my shows, I’d go into a trance and end up in the basement. A voice asked me to sing to it, and I did. I never told you because I knew you’d freak out like you’re doing now.” Sam huffed, but said nothing. “I didn’t know about the wings until last night. I saw him for the first time then. But he’s not dangerous, Sam. He cares about me, and he’d never hurt me or you or anyone else.”

“You don’t really know that,” Sam said darkly. “He looked like a wild animal in there!”

“Because you scared the shit out of him!” Dean spat. “He’s been in that basement for years without human contact and he’s had a rough life. If you’d been through what he had, you’d have run too when a stranger came at you.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Sam muttered, having the decency to look a little guilty. “I was just confused. I needed answers.”

“Maybe if you’d tried talking to him instead of yelling, you’d have gotten them more easily,” Dean grumbled. There was a long, tense pause. “I love him,” Dean said quietly.

Sam shut his eyes tightly. “We should find another theater. Move. Something. This isn’t healthy, Dean.”

The older Winchester looked at his brother and very calmly said, “You do what you gotta do, but if you try to force me to go with you, you will end up very sorry.”

Sam collapsed into a chair. “Damn, this is serious,” he mumbled to himself.

“It is,” Dean agreed. There was another long pause. “If you really met him, you’d change your mind about him.” Sam looked resigned in his chair, staring at the floor. “Will you meet him, Sam? On my terms?”

Sam grumbled at the ground. Dean raised his eyebrows. “Fine,” Sam acquiesced. “Is he going back to the theater?”

Dean set his coffee down, a pang of fear running through him. No, Cas wouldn’t go back there. Where would he go? Would Dean ever see him again? Cas loved him, he had said so. Cas would find a way here. But Cas didn’t know where Dean lived! What if something happened to him? What if he got hurt or abducted by the government or lost? What if-

“Hey, Dean, it’ll be okay,” Sam’s voice softened. Dean saw a little drop in his coffee and realized that he had begun to cry.

He swiped at his eyes hurriedly. “I just don’t know where he is,” Dean whispered, not trusting his voice. “I don’t know how to reach him.”

“If what you say is true, then he won’t stop until he finds you. I mean, he can fly, right?” Sam threw his hands in the air with a disbelieving chuckle. “Just go on the roof. He’ll find you.”

The roof. That was perfect. “Thanks, Sammy,” Dean patted his brother on the back and ducked into his room.

\- - -

One shower later, Dean climbed the fire escape and hoisted himself up onto the roof of his apartment building. It was broad daylight and Dean had a feeling that Cas wouldn’t risk being seen in the daylight, but he stayed anyway. He sat in the shade of the water heater and dozed until Sam called to plead with him to eat. Dean ate outside on the fire escape, unwilling to risk missing Cas. Sam was exasperated, but let Dean stay outside.

Dean slept in the shade during the day, and stretched out on a blanket Sam forced on him at night. The second night, he brought up a book and a flashlight. He only left the roof for food and bathroom breaks, and was constantly on edge. He read incessantly, consuming three novels in an effort to stave off his growing worry. It was four days before Cas crashed onto his roof.

Dean was dozing in the moonlight after finishing off War and Peace when he heard something bash into the side of the water-heater and moan. “Cas?” Dean asked, running around to the other side. Sure enough, his angel was picking himself up from the ground, looking a little worse for the wear.

“Dean,” Cas’ voice was filled with relief. Without waiting for him to get up, Dean pulled Cas into his arms. The winged-man rested his forehead on Dean’s shoulder and fisted his hands in his shirt.

“Are you okay? Let me look at you. What happened?” Dean babbled, pulling away to examine Cas. He had a few scrapes and bruises, and his wings had bits of dirt and grass matted in them, but looked otherwise unscathed.

“I fled to the woods,” Cas sighed, looking very tired. “It seems I am unexperienced with flying long distances. I fell from exhaustion a few times. But I am now a bit more experienced. I... snuck back into the theater to find your address. This is a confusing city.” He scrunched his nose up and Dean grinned.

Dean perhaps should have been more gentle, but he couldn’t help himself from crushing the blue-eyed man’s lips to his. Cas quickly regained his balance and pulled Dean to him, wrapping the black wings around them both. Dean sighed into the warm embrace of honey-scented black silk. He could lay in Cas’ arms forever.

Snap out of it, you have a mission to complete, he told himself. With some effort, he detached himself from Cas. “I talked to Sam,” Dean said carefully. Cas retreated warily, but kept his hands in Dean’s. “He wants to meet you. He won’t hurt you. He promised, and he’d have to go through me if he dared break it.”

Cas stared at their twined fingers for a few long moments. “Okay,” Cas whispered. Dean could see how vulnerable his angel looked. His wings were drooping and shaking slightly with the effort to keep them up. He wouldn’t be able to run away this time, even if he needed to. He looked up into Dean’s eyes, a note of fear still present.

Cas was scared, but he was willing to meet another human being, which he hadn’t done outside of Dean for years, all because he knew it was important to him. They could run away together right there off the roof, but Castiel agreed to meet Sam.

“C’mon, we can go down the fire escape,” Dean pulled Cas to the ledge and hopped onto the metal railing. Cas followed slowly, climbing down the steps behind Dean.

“Wait here a second,” Dean murmured to Cas before clambering through the open window. Sam’s door was shut. He was probably sleeping, but Dean couldn’t wait. He knocked sharply. After a few moments of rustling, Sam opened the door in his pajamas. “Dean?” he asked sleepily.

“He’s here,” Dean said quietly.

This woke Sam up immediately. “Okay,” he exhaled slowly.

“Remember, let him come to you.”

Sam snorted and closed his door. “He’s not a dog, I have manners.”

Dean couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Sam’s harsh, He looked like a wild animal! was now, He’s not a dog. Sam stood warily at the edge of the room, shifting his weight. Cas crouched at the window and stared at Dean until the green-eyed man was right in front of him.

“It’s alright, Sammy’s gonna behave.” Dean gave Cas a peck on the cheek and helped him and his huge wings through the window. Cas straightened up and folded the black wings against his back tightly. Apart from the bit poking up behind his bare shoulders, one wouldn’t even notice they were there.

Cas stood straight as a rod, still and silent, eyes locked with Sam’s. Sam straightened up. “Sorry for, uh, freaking you out,” he said timidly.

After a moment, Castiel replied, “And I apologize for my erratic behavior. I should not have fled like I did.” Sam’s brows shot up into his long hair. Dean chuckled. His brother must have not expected Cas’ formal language.

“Well” Dean clapped his hands together. “Shall we all sit down?” Sam sunk into the armchair closest to him, but Cas remained stubbornly next to the open window. “Hey,” Dean said quietly. “It’s okay. I’m here.” Cas’ unsure eyes met his. Dean smiled and pulled him into a kiss.

After a moment, Cas visibly relaxed into Dean’s arms. Dean brushed the raven locks out of his face. “Ahem,” Sam coughed. A slight blush crept across Cas’ cheeks when Dean pulled away. He looked embarrassed and utterly adorable. Sam looked less wary and more relaxed, a little smile aimed at Dean.

Cas allowed himself to be led to the couch and placed next to Dean. “So,” Sam said a bit awkwardly. “How many years has it been since... you know...” Sam shrugged.

“Eleven,” Cas said quietly. Dean’s brows rose. He didn’t know it had been that long since Cas made the basement his home.

“And you could really live there? You got food and everything?”

Cas smiled. “The theater provided for me, and in return, I provided for it.”

Sam nodded, and there was a long pause. “What are you going to do with my brother?” The question had an edge to it. Dean kept his mouth shut. He was curious too.

Cas turned his deep blue gaze on Dean’s. “Anything he wishes me to,” he said, eyes unmoving. “He is my world. Everything I have. My soul is in his hands.”

Do not cry, Dean Winchester, he told himself. His palms itched to pull Cas to him, to show him that he felt the same way. That would most definitely frighten Sam, though.

“Wow,” the younger Winchester breathed. “Okay. I think I believe that.” Dean shot a little smirk at Sam, and received a mild bitchface in return. Cas watched the exchange curiously.

Sam turned his attention back to Cas. “Can I touch your wings?”

Dean opened his mouth to object, but Cas put a hand on his knee. “It’s fine, Dean,” he reassured him, looking much more comfortable. The three rose at the same time. “My wings are very sensitive,” Cas told Sam, “but with the soreness I am experiencing after days of flying, I believe it will not affect me as it has in the past.” Cas glanced at Dean for the latter part of the sentence. Dean couldn’t help but flush at the memory.

“I don’t want to know,” Sam muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

With a little grimace, Cas stretched out one wing and took a step towards Sam. The younger Winchester obeyed Dean and remained in place, waiting for Cas to go to him. The winged-man stopped two feet or so from Sam and arched his wing forward.

Sam’s eyes had grown to the size of dinner plates as he examined the wing in awe. Cas remained completely still as Sam ran a few fingers down the cleaner feathers. “They look just like-”

“A blackbird,” Dean finished for him with a grin.

Sam studied Cas’ wings and kept a respectful distance from him. The sight of Sam and Cas both unafraid and interacting brought a proud feeling to the front of Dean’s mind.

“Your hair is very long, Sam,” Castiel nodded towards Sam’s head. “Do you not own scissors in this habitation?”

Dean doubled over in laughter and Sam shot both of them an annoyed look. “Nah, Cas, he just likes looking like a girl,” Dean teased. Cas shrugged and returned to Dean. The three conversed for a few more minutes about a few things in the apartment that Cas hadn’t seen. After both Sam and Cas yawned, Dean stood up.

“I think it’s bedtime. We’ll talk more in the morning.” On a whim, he gave Sam a hug. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Sam said quietly, pulling away. “He really is different.”

Dean grinned and took his angel’s hand, both brothers returning to their respective rooms. “I believe I should bathe,” Cas looked at his wings, poking at a clump of dirt.

“Good idea, Angel,” Dean dragged Cas into his bathroom, a silly smile plastered over his face.

\- - -

Dean woke with a start, wondering for a moment why he was in his bed and not on the roof. The events of the previous night flooded back to him, and a slow grin spread across his face. Cas was here, Sam was okay, and everything would be fine.

However, Cas was not in his bed as he was last night. Dean rose and donned a t-shirt, padding softly out of his room and into the kitchen. There, to his delight, was his angel, attempting to make breakfast. Probably.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean’s voice was still gravelly from sleep.

“Dean!” Cas exclaimed, then clapped his hand over his mouth. “Apologies,” he whispered, mindful of the audibly-snoring Sam in the other room.

“‘S alright,” the green-eyed man chuckled. “Are you cooking?” Dean turned on their coffeepot, ready for his caffeine.

“I found instructions in this book,” Cas said eagerly, picking up Sam’s copy of Healthy Habits: 101 Recipes for Eating Well. Inside the pan looked like a very lopsided egg white omelette with vaguely colorful things folded inside.

Dean couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed with food from Sam’s obsession. Cas was cooking, and the domesticity of it brought a feeling of warmth to his chest. The coffee-maker dinged and Dean poured himself a generous mug, hopping up to sit on the counter. “I’m surprised you haven’t burned down the place,” Dean grinned. When Sam first started this little health kick back in Lawrence, he nearly burnt down their house making veggie pasta. After that, Dean did most of the cooking, including Sam’s rabbit food.

Cas flipped the omelette onto a waiting plate with a spoon, and Dean made a mental note to teach him some things. “You’re adorable, you know that?” the Winchester murmured, reaching over to twine his fingers in Cas’.

The winged-man’s attention was immediately on Dean, who reached further to turn the stove off himself. Cas stood at the counter, situating himself between Dean’s legs. “I think you are “adorable” as well,” he air quoted. Dean suppressed a laugh and Cas cocked his head to the side. “That’s another word for beautiful, correct?”

“It’s close,” Dean said, wrapping his arms around Cas’ waist. “But beautiful suits you much better.”

Cas drew his fingers across Dean’s cheek and to his lips, which parted under the touch. The black wings fluttered, tucked close to Cas’ back. The blue-eyed man’s lips brushed over Dean’s, almost too soft to be a kiss. Dean claimed Cas’ lips a bit more forcefully, reveling in the heady sensation. It had been less than a week since Dean had first kissed Cas, a week since he had even seen him, but it felt wrong not to be touching him at all times.

Cas groaned weakly and pressed himself closer to Dean. The Winchester hadn’t even realized that he was stroking the feathers at the junction between the small of Cas’ back and the bottom of his wing. Dean felt heat rising to his cheeks and hooked his legs around Cas’ waist. Their hands moved quickly, Dean’s knotting in Cas’ sexually-tousled bedhead and Cas’ running down Dean’s spine to dip under the band of his pajama pants.

“Oh, whoa, was not expecting that,” Sam’s voice startled the two from their embrace. Cas jumped and Dean slid off the counter. Sam had turned around, back facing the kitchen.

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean glanced at the blood rising to Cas’ cheeks. “It’s good now, you can turn around.”

Sam turned and gave Dean a mild bitchface, more teasing than anything.

Cas picked up one of the three omelette-laden plates and held it out to Sam. “May I make amends with this?” he asked sheepishly.

Sam’s face visibly brightened. “Oh, yeah,” Sam said enthusiastically. Dean grinned like an idiot. The three sat down to enjoy breakfast. Sam and Cas were soon engaged in a debate about the best musical performers in Heaven’s Theater, excluding Dean of course.

“The guy may be a dick, but Crowley killed it as Javert,” Sam mumbled around his eggs.

“I agree,” Cas replied. “But I believe that Jessica Moore’s performance of Sandy in “Grease” took much more finesse.”

Sam suddenly went quiet, pink creeping up his cheeks. “All of this stuff was going on, so I didn’t tell you, Dean,” Sam said into his plate, “but I’m sort of seeing her.”

“Yeah, Sammy!” Dean thumped his brother soundly on the back. “It’s definitely not weird that I made out with her onstage.”

“Great, thanks Dean,” Sam covered his eyes. Cas’ hand, which had been resting comfortably on Dean’s knee, abruptly gripped tightly.

“Neither of you should worry,” Dean grinned at Cas, who loosened his hold. “We all know who I prefer.” The winged-man’s eyes softened. It was that look that Dean could drown in. Castiel’s words echoed in his head. He is my world. Everything I have. My soul is in his hands.

At that little breakfast table, they were all suspended in a bubble of security. But Cas couldn’t hide in the tiny apartment forever. At some point in time, they would have to face the music. Something had to be done. But even though the future was blurry at best, Dean knew one thing: he would never give Cas up for anything.

“Hey,” he said, an idea popping into his head. “Jess should meet Cas.”

Both pairs of eyes were on him with matching incredulous looks. “Dean, he just met me, your brother, and that was difficult. How’s he going to handle a complete stranger so soon?”

“I don’t want to frighten her away,” Cas said immediately. “I won’t take something like that away from Sam.”

“Look, Jess is a sweetheart,” Dean stuffed the last bite of the admittedly good omelette in his mouth. “We can wait a few days, but I think she would be a good next step. You know. Acclimation to the outside world.”

Sam was silent. “I did observe her during your rehearsals,” Cas said quietly. “If anyone were to accept me, it would be her.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sam muttered, picking up their plates and turning on the sink water.

\- - -

During the next three days, Sam and Dean tried to catch Cas up on everything he had missed.

“We have a black president. And everything is on the internet.”

“The twin towers were hit by terrorist-manned planes. And they cloned sheep.”

“Hurricane Katrina wiped out Louisiana.”

“Dean, that’s not true.”

“Well, the Red Sox won the World Series and Gay Marriage is legal, so I’d call it an interesting few years.”

“I don’t understand any of these references.”

Cas began to wear shirts with slits cut in the back for his wings, to Dean’s disappointment. He enjoyed seeing Cas shirtless at all times. But Sam insisted on teaching him how others functioned in society and Cas was eager to learn, so Dean let it go.

Cas learned how to keep quiet during his and Dean’s sexual escapades. Dean thought it was hilarious, but after the third time Sam came home from this or that to the sound of, “Fuck, Dean, you feel amazing!” they were both chastised and promised to be more conscientious of Sam’s mental health. That didn’t stop them in the least, though. Castiel was an incredibly fast learner and Dean had never been more perpetually satisfied. He had never before felt the need to give his partner 110% of what he had in him, but Cas was different. He had never felt so safe in anyone else’s arms. He had never felt loved like Cas loved him, and he had never loved anyone as much. There was no doubt in his heart that he was entirely Cas’, now and for the rest of his life.

Cas still requested that Dean sing to him before bed, and Dean always acquiesced. Cas would whisper praise that could only be described as poetry in Dean’s ear as they fell asleep.

It was a week until Sam announced that he had invited Jess over to dinner. “What did you tell her?” Dean asked a bit nervously.

“I told her that she’d be meeting your boyfriend, and that he’s a bit... different.” Sam paused. “But she said she’s sure she’ll love him.”

“I’m ready,” Cas said quietly, twining his fingers with Dean’s.

The next evening, Jessica Moore showed up as Dean prepared his finest: steaks, pasta, and a banana cream pie. “Dean!” she exclaimed, hugging her fellow actor tightly. “How are you? Kripke told us you’ve been feeling pretty under the weather lately.”

“I’m much better than I was last week. How’ve you been? Heaven’s Theater doing okay without me?” he teased.

“I’m obviously doing well,” she grinned at Sam, who colored slightly. “And we’re managing. We’re doing Oliver right now, and the kid’s a brat. You’re not missing much.” She glanced around the room. “Is your new boyfriend coming around soon?”

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. “He’s here,” Dean said to the smiling blonde.

“We need to explain something to you first,” Sam took her hand and led her to the couches. They had agreed that they would give her the gist of the story so she knew what was coming.

“You know the myth of the Angel of Heaven’s Theater?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, it’s my favorite,” she smiled. “Why?”

“Well, he’s real. Not a real angel, I mean, but he’s a guy,” Sam supplied.

“He was born how he was, and he got hell as a kid for it. He’s been hiding in the theater away from the public because he loves the productions.” Dean swallowed. “He’s willing to meet you, which is pretty big. So don’t freak out, okay?”

Jess’ skeptical look morphed into shock when she realized they were telling the truth. At the end of the spiel, she looked calm and determined. When she nodded, Dean got up and crossed the room to his door.

The door cracked open, Cas peeking out through the inch-wide space. “It’s good, Cas, you can come out now. Jess, this is Castiel, my boyfriend.”

Cas opened the door nervously, shuffling into the little living room. His wings rested loosely near his back, enough to see, but not to frighten. “Hello,” he murmured.

“Wow,” she breathed, rising slowly. “You are real!” Dean and Sam’s eyes widened at her look of glee. “Are those wings?” Cas nodded and she stepped forward. “Can I see them?”

Cas glanced sideways at Dean and stretched them outwards, glossy black feathers shining in the mediocre tungsten lights. “That’s amazing!” she squealed. Dean and Sam let out simultaneous sighs of relief. A smile spread across Cas’ face. She turned suddenly serious. “Thank you,” she said, bowing her head a bit. “I’m pretty sure it was you that saved my dressing room, and I really appreciate it.”

“Wait, saving your dressing room?” Sam asked incredulously.

Jess laughed. “I left my curling wand on accidentally during a rehearsal, and it fell into a pile of my clothes. They would have caught fire eventually, but I’m pretty sure you’re the one who unplugged it.” She turned to Cas. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Cas nodded. “It, uh, did catch one of your shirts on fire. I managed to extinguish the flames before any real damage was done, but I was forced to dispose of the shirt.” Dean grinned at Cas and clasped his hand.

“You don’t mind the wings?” Dean asked.

Jess shook her head. “I’ve always loved the notion of flying. And they’re beautiful! I’m jealous, actually.” She smiled at Cas, and he looked like he might cry.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Oh, and something smells good,” she turned, noticing the food. “Sam told me what a good cook Dean is.”

“Dean is skilled in the culinary arts,” Cas agreed, glad for the change in subject.

Jess was a miracle. Cas didn’t even phase her. She asked him questions and told him stories and laughed like they’d been friends for years. She and Dean talked about this new burger place down the street, and after a childish staring contest, Dean lost and agreed that he would buy them all a round of burgers there. Dean didn’t miss her hand rest on Sam’s for the majority of the meal. They looked at each other with shyness, but Dean could tell she really cared about him. And seeing Sam’s puppy dog eyes used for purposes other than persuasion... He was definitely head-over-heels.

Dean knew that Jess was a rare individual, that not many would be as immediately accepting of Cas as she had been, but it was a good start. An air of hope bloomed over the table, Cas’ happiness mirrored in Dean’s eyes.

\- - -

Sam stayed at Jess’ apartment that night. Cas and Dean lay on Dean’s bed, limbs twisted together comfortably. Soft guitar music played from Dean’s speakers. Cas had immediately taken a liking to acoustic guitar and vowed that he would master it someday.

“Dean?” the blue-eyed man murmured.

“Yes, Angel?” Dean murmured against his bare chest.

“I will have to leave this apartment, eventually.”

Dean sat up to look the man in the eyes. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, okay?”

“I love you,” Cas said in reply.

Dean smiled. “I love you, Cas.” He captured Cas’ lips in his. Cas hummed contently, pushing Dean’s shirt up to draw patterns on the small of his back. Dean teasingly trailed his fingers down the underside of Cas’ wing, earning a husky moan from him. “I’ll never get tired of that,” Dean murmured with a grin.

Cas nipped at Dean’s bottom lip and rolled them unexpectedly, fitting himself perfectly between Dean’s legs and attaching his mouth to Dean’s neck. Dean felt himself hardening at Cas’ show of dominance, letting out a squeaky breath as he licked up Dean’s pressure point. “And I will never tire of that,” the winged-man purred, popping open the first button of Dean’s flannel.

Dean could feel his pupils dilating at Cas’ voice, and he couldn’t get his shirt off fast enough. Castiel’s movements were unhurried, however, just like their first time together. “Cas,” Dean gasped as the blue-eyed man’s tongue flicked over a sensitive nipple.

“Mmm,” Cas’ voice vibrated in his chest. “Mine.”

“Wait,” Dean murmured, pushing Cas into a sitting position. “Can I try something?” Cas eyed him, a mix of apprehension and trust in his eyes. After a moment, he nodded. “Just kneel here for a second.”

Cas sat back on his heels, still as a statue. Dean sat behind him, running his fingers soothingly over his wings. Cas dropped his head forward, bracing himself on his knees. “Beautiful,” Dean breathed, mapping every feather carefully. Cas had become accustomed to keeping quiet, as Sam was always in the other room. “Let me hear you, Angel,” Dean’s breath ghosted over the soft feathers, and Cas let out a low groan. The groan was cut off sharply as Dean traced the junction of his wing and his shoulder with his tongue.

The feathers were so soft against Dean’s lips. He shifted his weight, pulling the wing backwards and nosing Cas’ shoulder blade. His mouth made it to the seam of wing and skin, searching for that-

“Oh fuck Dean!” Cas cried, shuddering violently. A honey-sweet taste burst on Dean’s tongue as he found the tiny oil gland. He licked it gently, aware of how sensitive it was. One hand snaked down Cas’ chest and wrapped around his leaking length. Cas’ noises were different; he panted and whined desperately, as if he forgot anything else existed at all. Precome leaked steadily from him as Dean twisted his fist, making slow, deliberate movements.

“Dean, stop, I’m so close,” Cas gasped.

“Do it,” Dean said against Cas’ skin. “Come for me.”

With nothing short of a feral cry, the winged-man came, muscles stretched taut under his skin. His voice died and he begun to shake with the effort of holding himself up. Dean threw a blanket over the wet patch on his bed, unwilling to stop long enough to strip off the sheets.

Cas slumped forward onto the bed and Dean manhandled him onto his back. Blue eyes peeked out behind heavy lids. Dean was still diamond hard and aching for attention, but Cas’ refractory period was more than ten seconds. Instead, he’d have to start by himself.

With a grin, Dean swiped his fingers through the oil still running down his lips and straddled the man’s chest. It wasn’t difficult to reach back and circle his puckered skin, a moan escaping from his throat at the sensation. Cas’ eyes were now wide and fixated on Dean’s fingers. The Winchester breached the first ring of muscle with a sharp inhale and slowly slid the digit inside himself. Cas shuddered underneath him as he removed it and pushed it in again, further. He couldn’t reach his prostate from this angle and his eyes dropped closed, concentrating. Right as he became frustrated, a second slick finger slid in beside his.

Cas’ digit moved deftly next to his, reaching farther up, just high enough to- “Agh, fuck!” Dean swore as Cas brushed the magic button inside him. With a determined look, Castiel stroked his prostate, adding another finger and stretching him gently. Dean felt the pool of warmth growing in his abdomen and pushed Cas’ hand away with the remainder of his strength.

Cas opened his mouth, probably to ask why Dean made him stop, but he fell silent when Dean gripped his length. He aligned himself and ever so slowly slid down until he was entirely impaled on Cas. “Dean,” Cas growled, throwing his head back.

“Ungh, god, Cas,” the Winchester moaned, rolling his hips with a shudder. Cas watch with parted lips as Dean lifted himself, then dropped entirely back onto him. Cas’ hips shifted and twitched upwards, hitting something in Dean that made him clamp down on Cas’ length.

With a growl, Cas planted his feet and thrusted hard, gripping Dean’s hips for leverage. Dean’s hands fell on Cas’ chest and he held on for dear life as Cas thrust up into him. The blue-eyed man set a punishing pace, lighting Dean’s core on fire. The outside world melted away, and everything left was Cas Cas Cas. Dean dug his nails into Cas’ skin to warn of his impending release, and then he was gone, his muscles locking up and a cry ripping itself from his throat. He was vaguely aware of Cas spilling into him

It felt like days before he came down, Cas pulling out of him gently. He collapsed on the winged-man and buried his face in the crook of his neck.

“You are amazing,” Cas murmured between breaths.

“You’re more amazing,” Dean chuckled breathlessly.

After a moment, Cas pressed a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “I... don’t know what will happen to me. I don’t know what my future holds, but I know you are in it.”

Contentment buzzed through Dean’s veins. “I already decided that,” Dean nuzzled closer to his angel. “You’re never getting rid of me.”

\- - -

There was fear in Cas’ eyes. Against his black t-shirt, his wings were barely visible, but they trembled slightly. Dean’s thumb stroked his cheek lightly. “It’ll be okay, Cas,” he murmured. “I’m right here for you.”

Castiel let out a breath and pulled Dean in for a kiss. His lips were so soft, and Cas could feel the corners of his mouth crook up in a smile. “Okay,” Cas said. “Okay.”

“I love you,” Dean murmured. “So much.”

The shaking subsided. “I love you, Dean,” the blue-eyed man murmured back.

Dean clasped his hand tightly and pushed open the door. Sunlight and warmth like Cas had never experienced before hit his skin, and Dean squeezed his hand. Together, they stepped out into the bustling streets of Manhattan, ready to face the world.


End file.
